in aeternum
by Tserisa
Summary: LaCroix's reflections on his use of a scythe.


From: forkni   
Full-Name: Cousin Tser   
To: fkfic-l@lists.psu.edu   
Fcc: Sent   
Date: Mon, 8 Sep 1997 20:49:02   
Subject: "in aeternum" (01/01) 

**in aeternum**   
By Cousin Tser 

... a vignette 

Disclaimer: Much as I would like to, I cannot claim LaCroix as my own. *pout* However, I am very glad I do not have the rights on Divia. *shudder* No one in this vignette belongs to me. They all belong to J. Parriott and B. Cohen and the folks at Sony/Tristar. 

_Note: This is one of my oldest bits o' fic. I'm archiving it here mostly for nostalgic reasons, and leaving the original header intact from way back in '97. Only spelling/grammar has been changed since then. Mostly just a literary exercise, expect no real quality here, folks._

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Lucius felt his body grow weak, so that his legs felt unsteady beneath him. His hand released the metal crescent held so tightly, and it clattered to the stone floor. His hand reached out to support him, catching the edge of the stone-hewn casket. If he had been mortal, he might have wept. 

"heu deusi!" he murmured, closing his eyes. "What have I done?" 

Lucius forced his eyes open a crack and looked with horror at the blood-spattered scythe. Killed his daughter. Killed his mother, his master. By his own hand, he was now alone in his immortality. 

Was he no better than she had been? He had murdered the one who gave him life. He would have died along with Pompeii were it not for her, would have perished long ago. He was no less evil than she who suggested vile acts and killed her own master. Lucius shuddered at this revelation. He was evil. 

His thoughts seemed to cool his heart, veil it in indifference. He steeled his emotions and looked at the fallen body of his mother/daughter, Divia. She was truly evil, beyond anything Lucius had met before. And he was her likeness. 

Should he fight it? He couldn't. He was a strong being, stronger in life than most humans, and stronger in immortality than he had ever thought possible. He could survive alone, he knew, he could bring the world to its knees if he wanted; he was powerful. But he didn't believe he could ever control his evil nature. Trying to would only bring him grief. He was what he was. 

And he was alone. What twisted trick was this? Were the gods he didn't believe in playing sick games with his immortal life? Yes, he was strong enough to survive alone. In life he had commanded vast troops who danced to whatever tune he played, he had commanded respect in countless mortals, he had been called to countless occasions as an esteemed guest. But now, as a vampire, immortal, he was alone. He would survive, but he would not be complete. 

What good was power with no one to share it with? No one to teach, no one to command, no one to create in perfect image of himself. He would survive, alone. But he would merely exist. Immortality, a lonely walk through time, was nothing without others. 

Perhaps that was what possessed Divia to bring him across in the first place. Someone to command, to teach, to create, to hold, to own. There was great appeal in it. Immortality seemed worthless without it. Had she sensed the evil in Lucius Qa'Ra had sensed in she? Something to mold and nurture? 

Lucius forced his face, always so adept at showing his joy at victory, his anger at his minions, his pride in his daughter, his love for life, into a mask of indifference. It was difficult. He wanted to show the pain at the death of his daughter, the loss of his master. He wanted to show the anger he had for her and the evil she was. He wanted to show his fear and guilt at killing her. He wanted to show his terror at the realization of his true nature. 

But he forced it from his outward expression. Never again. Emotion was a weakness. Alone, he could not afford it. Emotion was only a tool, to use to get what one needed, never to let it use oneself. Just as evil would be his tool. 

"vale filia, mater, malus dea," he murmured wryly. "No doubt the world is better off without you." 

He lifted the limp body of Divia in his arms, his toga damp and stained from the crimson gore that drenched her upper torso. With one hand, he forced aside the heavily decorated, inscribed lid of the sarcophagus, and laid her body inside. For a second he paused. It was almost like the connection between himself and his master had never truly been severed. Like there was still something there. But he forced the thought away as wishful thinking on his part, and retrieved Divia's head. It made him feel sickened, and he did not look at her face. With little effort, he closed the heavy stone cover. 

Forever. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

When you loved me I gave you the whole sun and   
stars to play with. I gave you eternity in a   
single moment, strength of the mountains in one   
clasp of your arms, and the volume of all the   
seas in one impulse of your soul. 

~~ G. B. Shaw 

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fini 


End file.
